Because It's Always What You Think
by schizotypalmadam
Summary: Harry wants them to believe that it's not what they think. Draco, on the other hand...


Disclaimer: I don't own it, and we both know it.

Author's Notes: A couple of warnings/I'm-sorries:

The characters here may be a little OOC, Harry because I made him too much like me and Draco because the war supposedly "Changed" him.

This story starts off sort of angsty, but then gets almost comical. The reason for this is because I wrote part of it when I was in a bad mood, and part when I was in a good mood, so…sorry, that's the way the cookie crumbles.

If you're planning on Flaming because it's Slash, I'm warning you now; IT'S SLASH! So, remember: Save Billy's Sanity, Burn Down a House. Thank You!

Now, On With The Show…

You have to understand, above all things, that I am not stupid. I know the score. I know that he doesn't love me; hell, I even know that he never will. I know that he doesn't even think _that way _when he looks at me. No one has ever accused me of being naive. In a way, I am, though. Because, even though I know where we stand, I sometimes think...well, I'm wrong, anyway. This is wrong.

He's very pretty, I muse as I stare at him from behind. Most men want to think that they're handsome, but really he's just pretty, like a woman, or a flower. He doesn't seem to mind. He's so delicate-looking; I wonder if he would break if I were to grip at him ha

He could be beautiful, if he wasn't so broken inside. If it didn't show in his liquid eyes every single time he looks at me. With his looks, he could be worshipped. I suppose that he is by some. The ones who don't see how ugly he is inside. It makes me wonder though; how can they not see it? He's screaming. I glance around. Plastic smiles, all. So they do know. They're just pretending not to notice. But why would they do that? I guess they just don't want to deal with what would happen if someone said, "Hey, you know, I think he's dying inside." He is. Dying, I mean. Not from any physical disease, but from what his own mind is doing to him; a mental affliction.

I don't really know which thing it is that's bothering him so. Maybe it's the fact that he betrayed his own father. Not that I blame him. I hated the bastard; everyone knows that. But it was his _father_, for God's sake. I could never have the courage. I could never handle the pain. So yes, maybe it's that. Or, maybe it's because he watched his mother die. Not that I really liked her either, mind you. She was, however, the lesser of two evils, and certainly she did not deserve to die like that. Not that Voldemort cared about that when he killed her. Of course, there's also the war itself, and the part that he played in it...all that blood and death... I guess he's got a lot to be fucked up about. And yet, even he's pretending that he's fine.

Back to his looks, though. I notice them a lot, I think. I've never really thought about it that much before. My brain just sort of comes up with a logical explanation: Keep thy enemies close. Only he's not really my enemy anymore. And I just wish he were close. So, I watch him, and I memorize every detail of his appearance, from the way that his fine, silvery hair falls just so across his left eye (he's gotten lazy about his usually perfectly slicked-back hair; another sure sign that he's fallen into hopeless apathy), to the way that he unconsciously rubs at the expanse of now unmarred skin that covers the inner side of his right arm.

"Mr. Potter!"

I jolt out of my reverie, almost unseating myself in the process. I wobble precariously for a moment, right myself, let out a long sigh of relief at not having to become close personal friends with the hard stone floor of the dungeons, and finally shift my eyes up and onto Snape's furious face.

"Yes..._sir_?"

I can't really forgive him for what he did to Dumbledore. Not even after everything was explained to me. Even if I had promised the man that I would kill him if he ever asked me to, I wouldn't really do it. McGonagall says, though, that Dumbledore was dying anyway, that the poison he imbibed while we were trying to retrieve the pendant horcrux was killing him much more quickly than I could have imagined. Still, though, the way that Snape let me believe... well, anyway, I hate the man even more than ever, and believe me, he feels the same. And right now, he has the face that says "I've said your name seven times already, you dimwit!".

"I've said your name eight times already, you idiot!"

Oh, so close, too... Well, might as well have some fun...

"And what is it that you want exactly?"

And to think that I was under the impression that his face couldn't get any redder than it already was...

"I asked you if you would be _so kind _as to tell the class what the ingredients on the board create when combined correctly."

I eye the board in question, but I don't even recognize any of the ingredients, let alone what they could possibly create when merged.

"I've no idea, _Professor_."

"That's to be expected, I suppose. It's not as if you would stop being dreadful at Potions now, after all this time. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for being completely incompetent"

He turns his back to ask Parkinson the same question, and I make a rude gesture behind his back (I stop myself from also sticking out my tongue). I swivel my eyes back to the previous owner of my attentions, only to find him staring at me with tired, yet...yes, I believe that's...amused, eyes. And I know, quite suddenly, that it is going to be up to me to save the day (or, at least, the not-quite-a-damsel-in-distress) once again. This time, though, I'm doing it because I want to, because I can no longer look into his too-old eyes and pretend like nothing is wrong. Because I've never been all that good at acting like everyone else, anyway.

Snape has decided, quite generously, to assign us partners for this lesson. He assigns me (surprise, surprise) to Malfoy. When I move without protest to my spot beside the boy, Snape, having clearly not received his intended outcome (which I suspect was outrage), gets an expression that reminds me of a puffer fish moments before it blows up. This thought leads, through several obscure links in my mind, to an image of Snape being devoured by the Giant Squid. I burst into insane giggles, causing Malfoy to eye me suspiciously, and scoot his stool backward a foot or so, as if I have some sort of contagious laughing disease. The real reason for my odd behavior, I expect, is the fact that I managed to get approximately three hours of sleep last night (I was doing a transfiguration exam).

"It's a mind-reading potion, you know."

I whip my head in Malfoy's direction, surprised by his sudden speech.

"Huh?"

Real smooth, Harry.

"The potion we're supposed to be brewing. Some wizard who couldn't do legimancy invented it to help him read minds."

"I see. And you know this how?"

"It's none of your business how I know it, Potter."

And now I've blown it. I can visibly see him shutting down, turning off all emotions in order to better deal with me.

"I was just curious. You know so much about Potions, and I'm such rubbish at it..."

"Whatever. Just go get the ingredients."

I hoist myself up and amble over to the ingredient closet. I have no idea what I'm supposed to get, so I follow Hermione and pick up one of everything she does. Arms laden, I make my way back to the table, almost dropping everything when I trip (Graceful, huh?) over Zabini's bag. Malfoy reaches out to steady me just in time; his hand burns on my forearm. Unconsciously, I gasp and jerk my arm away; Malfoy briefly looks hurt. The emotion is gone before I can even take stock of it.

I reach our table and dump all of the little vials unceremoniously onto the surface; Malfoy sneers and begins to arrange them according to (I assume; I'm still kind of clueless) the order in which they will go into the potion. I light the flame under my cauldron; that, at least, is something I can do correctly. Then, I turn to Malfoy, open my mouth, realize I have nothing to say, and close it again. He glances up at me, seems to decide that my actions are not worth comment, and goes about cutting up what appears to be large dried slugs of some sort.

"Is there, er, anything I can do?"

Malfoy pushes a mortar and pestle towards me, along with a jar labeled "Morgrim Root."

"Grind two teaspoons of this into a fine powder, and add it when I tell you to."

I immediately do as he says.

Half an hour and a bit of arguing later, our potion is a bright, blinding purple, and Malfoy looks satisfied, which can only mean that we've made our potion correctly. As if on cue, Snape speaks up in a superior voice.

"If you have correctly followed the instructions, your potion should now be a vivid purple. If it is not, congratulations, you have failed to make a fairly simple potion. We will now test the correctly brewed potions on a few..._select _pairs."

Well, that'll be us...

"Malfoy, Potter, please come to the front."

We walk to where Snape stands, and Malfoy hands him a corked vial of our completed concoction.

"I see that you managed not to screw up this time Potter, no doubt due to Mr. Malfoy's help. No matter...Each of you, please take a drink (a small one, mind you) from the potion, and we shall see how well it works. I'll have you remember that one of the stipulations of the potion is that only those who have actually drank it can hear one-another's thoughts. The class will (unfortunately) not hear your inner secrets."

Thank the Gods.

I watch Malfoy take his swig from the bottle, grimacing at the taste. Then, it's my turn. I tip the bottle to my lips, take a breath, and take a small sip. It tastes like rotten milk mixed with a vomit flavored Bert's, but I take another small drink, and immediately I can hear a strange buzzing at the back of my mind. Concentrating on it, I clearly hear, "What if he finds out about..." And then the narration stops, because Malfoy has realized that I'm listening to his thoughts.

I can feel him moving around in my head, and I work to think only about mundane things. This, of course, backfires on me, as my mind automatically brings up an image of Malfoy, two weeks earlier on the Quidditch pitch. He had been practicing shirtless, and I had been watching from my hiding place behind the bleachers. I look up in time to see Malfoy's eyes widen comically, before my mind is bombarded with a chant of "Don't Panic, Don't Panic, I'm sure it's nothing..." that's definitely not coming from me. My first reaction is to calm him down so I say the first thing that comes to mind:

"_It's not what you think!"_

I look around to see if anyone in the room heard me and is getting curious, only to find that none of them seem to be hearing anything. They're all staring at us with deadening interest, except for Snape, who I suspect is trying to listen in through legimancy. Malfoy, however, is looking straight at me. And then,

"_Oh, isn't it?"_

Only his lips never move. And I realize that we're communicating telepathically. I say this to Malfoy, through my mind, and his eyes widen for what seems like the thousandth time today.

"_Well, this is interesting."_

_"That's one way to put it, Malfoy."_

I turn to Snape, attempt to tell him that I can talk to Malfoy in my head, and hear nothing. Okay, so I can't talk aloud...

"I might have mentioned, boys, that while under the influence of the potion, all communication must be done telepathically. It is a rather..._remarkable _side effect, don't you think?"

I tell him to Fuck Off, and he doesn't hear a thing.

"I'm afraid I don't read lips Mr. Po..."

_"POTTER!"_

I jerk around to look at Malfoy.

"_What?"_

_"What do we do about this?"_

"_Nothing. We wait for it to wear off, and then we pretend like it never happened."_

_"Potter."_

_"Yes."_

_"This potion is supposed to wear off after five minutes."_

_"So?"_

_"It's been seven."_

_"Oh."_

_"OH? That's all you can say?"_

_"What else am I supposed to say? Woo-hoo? Oh, no? We're currently talking to each other through our fucking MINDS, Malfoy. That's enough to deal with for me, thanks."_

What he says to himself is, "I'm not going to be able to take this much longer." Then there's some mumbling about privacy and secrets and, strangely enough, whip cream. What he says to me is

"_Watch the language, Potter. We have to alert Snape."_

_"I'm sure he knows. He probably orchestrated the entire thing as some sort of strange punishment for me."_

_"Get over yourself, Potter. He wouldn't do that to me."_

_"Sure..."_

We both set on Snape, and mouth wordlessly for a bit before finally ceasing, because everyone is just staring with their mouths open.

"Surely, boys, the effects should be wearing off by now. Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy shakes his head rapidly, before snatching a piece of paper from Hermione's desk. She starts to protest, realizes what he's using it for, and stops. He scribbles for a moment, and then thrusts the paper into Snape's hands. I read his mind as he thinks about ways to get out of this while Snape's eyes scan the paper. When he looks up, he appears alarmed.

"I don't...I don't understand what went wrong. Your potion appeared perfect."

_"Told you he wasn't responsible."_

_"Ever heard of lying?"_

_"Not in this situation."_

_"Snape can lie in any situation. Trust me, I know."_

_"I know you know._

_"I know you know I know."_

_"Well, I know you know I know you know."_

_"And I know you know...oh, whatever. Look, we don't know how long we're going to be like this, so why don't we call a truce?"_

_"I thought we did that a long time ago, Potter."_

_"Oh, I guess we...well, I just thought..."_

_"Don't worry about it. Let's just work together to solve this."_

_"Okay...sounds like a plan."_

We both look back at Snape, who has apparently been watching us during the entire exchange.

"And what is it that you two are so intimately discussing?"

Malfoy takes the paper, writes on it, and hands it back to Snape. Snape reads it, gives Malfoy an angry look, and storms out of the classroom, mumbling something about going to the library to find a spell book. I look at Malfoy curiously.

"_What did you write?"_

_"I wrote, 'None of you damn business'."_

I erupt into soundless laughter, causing the class to look worriedly between Malfoy and me. I guess me laughing at something he's said is sort of a rare occurrence. Malfoy grins (A real grin!) and thinks about how cute I look when I'm laughing. Wait...what?

"_Did you...did you just call me cute?"_

Malfoy looks shocked for both of us for an instant, but soon the shock melts into agitation.

"_Bloody Hell, Potter, stay out of my fucking mind!"_

_"What happened to watching the language, eh?"_

_"Oh, fuck you!"_

_"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"_

Malfoy flushes a lovely shade of pale pink, and averts his eyes from where they had been fixed upon my crotch.

"_That's...that's ridiculous Potter. Just because I think you're cute when you laugh..."_

_"So you're admitting that you think I'm cute?"_

_"NO! I mean yes...I mean...I don't know, Potter. I'm confused and frustrated right now. It would be nice if you could stop the childish taunting for a minute."_

_"Sure, whatever you say, Pookie."_

_"What did you call me?"_

_"Pookie? That's my new nickname for you. You know, _since we're clearly lovers now, because you lo..."

And I stop talking there, because I've said that last bit out loud. Sometime during mine and Malfoy's conversation, Snape has reentered the room and reversed the effects of the potion with a spell. And the whole class has heard me declare Malfoy and I lovers. Everyone can hear it this time when I say

"It's not what you think!"

Malfoy's palm makes contact with his forehead. He looks to be in pain. Crabbe speaks up.

"Everyone knows that when you say it _isn't _what we think it most definitely _is _what we think."

Everyone seems torn between being surprised that Crabbe has said something intelligent and agreeing wholeheartedly with him. Ron's face is too red for my comfort.

"Wait, no, what I mean is..."

"What Potter means is, we have something to tell you. Harry? Do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

I ogle at Malfoy for a full thirty seconds. I wish I could still read his mind. My eyes ask "WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKNG HELL?" His say "Trust me." So, out loud I say:

"Go ahead, Draco. You can tell them."

Hermione gasps loudly at the use of first names. The entire room has its breath held.

"Po...Harry and I, well, we're...together; have been for some time now. We were waiting for the right time to tell everyone, and now seems like as good a time as ever."

"Prove it."

Everyone looks to Pansy, who looks furious (probably because Malfoy...I mean Draco is supposed to boyfriend). Draco looks aggravated.

"What do you mean 'prove it'? I just said we're a couple, didn't I?"

"If you are really a couple, you won't mind kissing for us."

I cast a nervous glance at Draco. He doesn't look any more up for it than I am, but if we're going to do this...

"No problem. Come here, _Drake_."

"No, you come here, _Hare_."  
"Fine, whatever..."

I step cautiously to him and lean forward until our lips are pressed together in the lightest of kisses. His lips are cool against mine. I hold it for two seconds, then back away and look around. Everyone looks shocked. No one looks impressed. Ron looks nauseated. Pansy speaks up once more.

"That wasn't a kiss. I meant a real kiss...ten seconds, and with tongue."

I grimace, but move forward once more. Once I get almost nose-to-nose with Draco, though, I lose my nerve and just stand there looking into his stormy blue eyes. Everyone seems to be losing interest when suddenly Draco lurches forward and crashes his lips against mine. I stiffen in shock for a moment, but then I'm kissing him back, and oh, what a kiss it is.

Our lips move together as his hands find their way into my hair. I wrap mine around his waist, at which point I manage to think about my earlier musings involving Draco being breakable. It seems so ludicrous now, with his strong chest pressed up against mine. I carefully run my tongue along his bottom lip, and he eagerly opens up for me. Our tongues fight a battle for dominance, his winning in the end and exploring my mouth with fervor. I moan softly, and he growls in response and breaks our lip lock. I don't have time to protest, because then his mouth is on my throat, licking at my Adam's apple, and then sucking at a sensitive spot behind my ear. I cling to him in ecstasy as he holds us tightly together. My hand leaves his hip and travels toward his manhood, but before I can reach my destination, a small cough interrupts us.

The reaction is instantaneous. Draco and I spring apart like two negatives of a magnet, panting and looking thoroughly snogged (which we are, so it makes since). I look away from him, embarrassed at how aroused I am, and instead find myself gazing at the class. They are in various states; some look lustful, some disgusted, some intrigued…and Ron is passed out on the floor. I don't burst into laughter this time; I'm too mortified. Pansy looks both pleased and horrified.

"Well…I guess you really are a couple. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Damn right we're a couple, you cow!"

Draco sounds husky and breathless; I'm surprised to find myself turned on by it. I decide I need to say something.

"Draco, I have to get out of here. Come with me?"

"Sure, love."

He looks adoring. I wince at the pet name and glance at Snape, who has been standing in the corner this whole time. He looks as if his world has come crashing down. He doesn't protest when Draco and I steal out of the dazed and silent room.


End file.
